An Old Marrried Couple
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: Marry me." "You know, you're the strangest golddigger I've ever seen, marrying someone to get someone else's money." When House's grandfather is on his deathbed, he finds a rather large loophole in his inheritance. All he needs is a spouse. HW eventually
1. The Strangest Golddigger

A/N: This is, by far, the strangest idea I've ever come up with for what will eventually be a slash fic, no matter how slowly it gets going. Because House and Wilson are an old married couple. Do enjoy.  


* * *

Wilson looked up, the steady movements outside his office door were starting to distract him. The sight of House pacing the hallway outside was, perhaps, one of the most annoying things he had ever seen. "Pace somewhere else!" He called, trying to get back to his paperwork.

House, however, could not. This was one of the most nerve wracking moments of his life, after all. This was something he'd never done, and had never really planned on doing. He considered it, a few times, when he had been seeing Stacy, but that was a different thing entirely. That was going to be romantic, that was going to be sweet, and caring.

This, this was purely practical. He merely took a deep breath, and strode inside."Marry me."

"What?!" The word is a strangled yelp, and House merely grinned from where he was standing in the doorway.

"It's legal here, you know."

"Where-what-why?" Wilson couldn't say anything else, he was too incredibly caught off guard.

"In the courthouse, with a judge, because my grandfather's dying." Wilson tried to patch together the pieces of logic that went on with House's brain.

"You want me to marry you because your grandfather's dying? What do those two things have to do with one another?"

"Inheritance. Duh." Wilson merely gaped as House deposited himself on the couch in the office. "My grandfather is doling out his cash according to size of the family for us grandkids. And as a twosome, I get twice as much as a onesome."

"So you're asking me to marry you so that you can get rich?"

"That's the general idea."

"That'll never work."

"I already checked with a lawyer, so long as I am married, on paper, to someone, I get twice as much. Still much less than my other three cousins who all have kids, but it's still twice as much as I was going to get otherwise. I'll even cut you in on it."

"How much?" Wilson couldn't say no to a profit making scheme, if it really was as foolproof as this. Besides, they _were_ best friends, he really wouldn't care if he was stuck moving back in and onto House's couch. Besides, what was another marriage under his belt, especially if it didn't mean anything.

"In the range of about twenty five k, and that would be your cut."

"What's yours?"

"About seventy five." Wilson rolled eyes. Of course House would take a much bigger cut for himself, it was House.

"I think this is a completely new definition of gold digger. Marrying someone to get someone else's money. You're absolutely sure that this is foolproof? That all we have to do is put our names down on paper, and it's twenty five thousand dollars in my pocket?"

"Go to the courthouse, put our names down on the paper, wait for Pawpaw to kick the bucket, collect."

"Isn't this cheating your family?"

"The rest of my family are getting plenty. The rest of it was going to go to charity anyway." He produced a copy of the will, and shoved it in Wilson's face. The house was going to someone Wilson assumed was House's uncle, other assets were being divided up between the children, and the liquid assets were being divided between the grandchildren. To the tune of fifty thousand dollars to each member of the immediate family.

"I don't know House-the idea of marrying someone for money-"

"We're pretty much an old married couple anyway." Wilson sighed dejectedly. House _did_ have a point about that. They did act very much like an old married couple. Bicker, fight, but somehow always wind up making up. Able to communicate without speaking, and spend time in each other's company just enjoying the space-each of them doing two different things, but enjoying there being someone else there.

"You know, I swore I'd never get married again."

"But that's because I've never asked." There was a long pause as Wilson read, and re-read the will. If House had said he had a lawyer look it over, than he trusted House. Of course, the only way anyone could trust House was if it was on a matter that involved finding giant, glaring loopholes in the system.

"I refuse to change my last name." Wilson swore that he'd never seen House smile quite so brightly before. This wasn't the cat that ate the canary, this was the cat who had just poached the ostrich.


	2. Scared

James Wilson stared at the will that was in front of him, trying to figure out just what he was getting into. He didn't even know what a civil union entailed, but he assumed it wasn't much different from any of his past, failed, marriages. The only thing was that this was a sham marriage, this was him signing his name to a piece of paper for an easy few thousand dollars. No, he wouldn't think of it like that. This was him helping a friend out, that's what this was.

Although if you had told him when he first met House that he'd wind up married to him-however briefly it would be, as he had no intentions on remaining married past however long was necessary for House to collect, he would have laughed in your face. He would have told you that you were absolutely bonkers.

But yet, here he was, having just agreed to do what he thought was the most monumentally stupid thing he's ever, and likely would ever do. He didn't even know where to begin. He assumed that it would be a nice, perfunctory service performed by a judge in the courthouse-although he wondered if they'd opt for Princeton Township or Plainsboro. Not that it mattered much. At least it wasn't going to be another lavish wedding that cost far more than he ever wanted to spend, in a church where he felt rather uncomfortable, with a wedding reception from hell.

Well, no, he was sure that if House was involved, the reception would be hell. Because knowing House, there would be quite a reception. It was one of those things that he knew House just couldn't possibly pass up. He didn't know what the service would be like, whether or not they changed the language from the traditional marriage vows. He gave a small snort of laughter as he pondered what "you may now kiss the bride" would become.

And anyway, House was going to be the bride, if need be. It was his harebrained scheme, Wilson was the one that was just along for the ride. He was just there because he was Wilson-the-Doormat, always willing to help out House in a time of need. And while this wasn't even a major time of need, it was still lending a hand. It wasn't even as though it would inconvience him. If anything, it was going to benefit him.

He was coming away with a year's worth of alimony for Katie, at least. One less ex-wife to deal with. He'd get out of his damned hotel, which he moved back into because he couldn't stand being in Amber's apartment anymore, and he was too proud to go back to House's couch. But now he had a reason to be House's couch. After all, the least a man could do for his groom-to-be was give him the couch, now wasn't it?

He wondered if he should call his parents or not. He didn't even know what he'd say. "Hi ma, guess what, you know that nice boy Greg that you're always doting over? I'm marrying him, but only because I'm getting a lot of money out of it. No ma, we're not in love. Why am I marrying him? Good question." Yeah, that would go over with his parents very well, he was sure of it.

But he felt guilty not telling them too. His mother could guilt the paint of a wall, and he knew that if she were to find out what happened, and that he hadn't told her, that she would kill him. Or rather, guilt him into killing himself. After giving him a thorough battering of course.

But to be honest, he was afraid of what his family's reaction would be. There wasn't a single member of his immediate or extended family that was gay. How would they react to being told that he was marrying a man? He needed to think this through. The sheer idea of it was overwhelming. He was comfortable with a regular marriage. He'd done enough of those to be able to walk through the planning with his eyes closed. But this, this was a completely new entity, and he was, in a word, scared.


	3. Planning Something

A/N-This fic isn't progressing quite how I like it, but if I really change anything, it'll be known in further author's notes. It needs something, but I'm not quite sure what.

* * *

House sat behind his desk, tennis ball bouncing up and down off the carpeted floor, eyes, however, focused on the paper in front of him. He was really going through with this. He was, honestly, going to marry someone entirely for money. No other reason. Well, he supposed that he had always wanted to get married, just so that he could throw it in the faces of those who said he never would because he wat too much of an ass.

But saying he was marrying someone entirely for money, that sounded shallow even for him. Well, that and it would give him his personal manservant back. Someone who would cook, and clean, and go grocery shopping, and keep his apartment neat for him. Not because Wilson cared about him, but because Wilson was doing it all for himself. He liked being collaterally involved with Wilson's life, as it often benefited him.

But that felt selfish. While House had no objections to being selfish, he _did_ need to come up with something good to tell his mother as to why he was getting married-to a man no less-that wasn't simply "Because Pawpaw will give me twice as much if I have a ring on than if I don't." He could already feel the pinching on his ear and his mother leading him around the house as she chewed him out over that. No, he had to find a much better excuse.

He pondered, and considered, and wondered, before deciding to follow a logical approach to this. There were reasons why the state had allowed gay couples to marry. Insurance rights, benefits, the ability to see the other in the ICU. There was a tax break, he supposed, even though his taxes didn't really bother him.

After a long while, he got up, heading down to the main floor. There was one person who could tell him what the benefits were. After all, she was the boss of the place, she had to know what the employee benefits to things were. He walked in, without knocking, and sat down across from her. She didn't even need to look up. "What do you want, House?"

"Civil unions are treated the same as marriages amongst the staff here, correct?"

"We chose to give our employees in non-traditional relationships the same benefits as those in a more standard relationship." It's a carefully practiced answer, one that's been rehearsed so many times she doesn't need to think twice about it.

"And what are these benefits?"

"Insurance applying to the spouse as well, visitation rights, putting children from before the marriage into our daycare-House, why are you asking this?"

"Just wondering." He felt Cuddy's eyes on him, and he stayed perfectly still. This was no different from being in the principals office. And Cuddy-well, he stopped the thought of Cuddy and school short, before his mind started thinking along the lines of "uniforms."

"You never just wonder. You're planning something, and if this something involves the hospital I would like a little bit of a warning. You know, so that I can get teams of lawyers lined up for the inevitable fallout that you insist on bringing with you."

"It doesn't involve the hospital in any way more than I work in the hospital." He felt Cuddy's inquisitive gaze, but refused to budge.

"I will fire you if I need to."

"Say that like you mean it, and I'll believe it."

"House-" The tone was warning, but they both knew that it was an empty threat.

"I'll be good mommy, I promise." She merely rolled her eyes.

"If you're not going to tell me what you're plotting, then get out, I will not be an accessory to the crime."

"As you wish, Principal Cuddy."

"Out!" The command was exasperated, and he obeyed. She wasn't going to follow along with his little tricks, she wasn't going to be another part of his plans and his crimes, and his systemic destruction of the Hospital. No, he always claimed that it was never lupus, because he _was_ lupus. He was the constant ache and pain in every single person he worked with, he fatigued everyone there, he weakened the hearts of everyone, and left unchecked would completely destroy the place from the inside out.

She sighed, and attempted to piece together what he was plotting. The civil unions comment did pique her interest, and she _had_ heard rumors about him from as long as they were in college at the same time. But rumors were rumors, and often had no basis in truth. After all, she had seen the evidence to the contrary with him, so the fact that he asked proved that he was doing something that was very likely going to lead to her needing to dye her hair instead of just cover up where the grey was starting to poke through.

"I said out!" She called when her door creaked open again, but when the figure didn't move, she sighed and looked up, finding Wilson there instead of the bane of her existence.

"House has gone crazy."

"Tell me something I didn't know."

"No, actually crazy. Worse than usual." She didn't say anything beyond a groan, and banged her head on her desk.

"What now? Do I even want to know?"

"He asked me to marry him?"

"What?!" It was nothing more than a strangled yelp.

"My thoughts exactly. Apparently it doubles his inheritance from his poor rich dying grandfather."

"He's doing this for money?"

"I don't know why he's doing this. He's House, attempting to figure out why he does something is like attempting to figure out whether Schroedinger's cat is alive or dead." She sighed, knowing he was right.

"Are you going to go through with it?"

"I'm-not sure."

"Not sure? You can't honestly be thinking about this seriously."

"I'm not."

"But you just said you're not sure."

"Right now I'm more shocked than anything. How would you feel if he barged in here and told you that he'd give you twenty five thousand dollars to marry him for all of a few weeks? I haven't even had a chance to think about it yet."

"He offered you that much?"

"Apparently I only get a quarter of the whole thing. But there has to be more to it than that. He's never done something simply because of money-it's not as though he needs it." It was true. It wasn't as though House spent huge sums of money every day-Wilson knew for a fact that there was more than enough stashed into bank accounts and stock options and retirement funds for House to live lavishly, and yet his friend didn't.

"There has to be something else to it. Knowing him, he just wants to piss off the rest of his family." The idea had yet to cross Wilson's mind.

"You think that's it?"

"It's House, who knows what it is." Wilson sighed, leaning back in the chair. She had a point. She had a very very good point.


	4. Nuptually Assured Destruction

House mulled over the events of the day with a glass of whiskey in his hand, wondering what exactly had happened. His grandfather had been dying for a while, that was no surprise. Sure, his mother had called to tearfully inform him that there were only a few weeks left, but that was something he had planned on happening. Everybody died. And his grandfather was in his ninety's.

What surprised him was the sudden idea. And it had seemed utterly brilliant at the time. It gave him much more money, but it was at the same time, just money. It didn't give him anything else. A knock on the door jarred him out of his thoughts, and he shouted at them to go away, but the sound of a key in the lock resigned him to facing the one person he'd rather not.

"I have beer." And a case was set down on the table. He didn't even look up as he heard the sounds of a coat being draped over a chair, and the couch protesting as Wilson flopped into it. There was a long while before either of them spoke, both of them busy watching the television. "Why?"

House sighed, the one question he didn't even know the answer to. "Why not?"

"Why are you suddenly deciding that you need to be married? You don't need the money."

"I don't." House looked up, and saw the concern in his friend's eyes, and found it to be absolutely damnable.

"So why? Cuddy thinks you have this urge to be a bitch to your family by brining me along as your-whatever." House hadn't even considered that, really. He had considered his mother's reaction, his father's didn't matter anymore, the man was dead. He knew his mother would be upset at the lack of grandkids, but she hadn't been holding out hope anyway. She knew his past full well, and it wouldn't surprise him, he knew that.

"It's not that."

"So what is it? Why now? Why me?"

"I don't know. Why'd you marry any of your ex wives?"

"Because it seemed like the natural thing to do. I thought I was in love, we'd been dating, it seemed like the natural progression of things. Dating, engagement, marriage, divorce."

"So you married them because you dated them?"

"Because I didn't think there'd be anyone else." Wilson swilled down a beer, and reached for another.

"But there always was. Don't you think by wife number three, you'd have learned?"

"Last time I checked this conversation was about you."

"Did you really love any of them, or did you just pretend to?" Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, and House knew he'd hit a sore spot.

"I did, at least I thought I did."

"Bullshit." It's one word that cuts Wilson to the quick, and he knows it's true, but he won't admit it.

"You married them because it stopped you from being alone, and it gave you someone who would need you. Because unless you're being needed, you're not happy." Wilson briefly wondered how many whiskeys House had knocked back before he realized that the tone in his friend's voice was frustration, not drunken anger.

"At least I've never wanted to marry someone for money."

"It's not just for the money." House knew there was more to it than that, but what the other thing was, he wasn't sure. It was just an idea that had taken root and refused to leave. One that had been stewing in the back of his mind for the past week.

The phone rang, interrupting their conversation, and House grabbed it, checking the caller ID. "Are you going to do this, or no?"

"Now, you want me to make a decision now?"

"Well, my mother's calling, and it would give her enough time to get up here before gramps kicks the bucket-" Wilson felt very put on the spot.

But he couldn't leave House hanging. There was always the possibility of divorce number four, another tally on the list of failed relationships that he'd had. "Fine." He agreed, knowing full well that he had gotten himself in way over his head. This was far worse than any of his previous marriages, at least those had been done with a semi noble purpose in mind. This, this was done simply out of curiosity.

Which, he had the sneaking suspicion was the entire reason why House was doing it. Because he wanted to see what would happen. House was like a five year old in that regard. Give him a vague idea, and he's naturally run it into the ground, attempting to see things from every angle. Tell him not to do something, tell him he couldn't do something, and he'd do it, just to see what would happen.

House was the sort of person that would have ended the world during the cold war, simply because he would have pushed the button that would have started mutually assured destruction simply to see how the rest of the world would respond. And he had a feeling that that was exactlly what this was. Mutually assured destruction. Or rather, nuptually assured destruction.

He groaned as he heard House's smirk rather than saw it. "Hi, mom, how are you? Me? Excellent. I'm getting married." Yes, that's what this was, nuptually assured destruction.


	5. New Revelations

A/N and this is where the plot actually picks up. Oh, and someone had left a review pointing out that gay marriage is illegal-NJ's got civil unions, which are supposed to be the same (even though in practice they're totally not). And it's just a catalyst for this whole thing anyway. Anyway, do enjoy.  


* * *

Wilson was playing the part of Mrs. House in his mind, basing his reactions off of what House was saying. He could imagine the squeaked "what!?" Seeing as it had been both his and Cuddy's reaction to the news. But he was trying to figure out what else was going on on the other side of the line.

_When is it?_ Is what you assume is the answer to"Not entirely sure yet, but soon?" It's sort of like playing a round of Jeopardy.

_Who is it? _Is the question that you know prefaces "They make me happy."

But the most important question-the _Why? _Goes completely unasked. He tuned out the talks of pleasantries, and focuses instead on the TV. It was only when the sharp beep of the phone being turned off hit his ears that he focused again on House, an expectant look on his face. "She wants to meet you for dinner." It's a gruff response, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"She's already had dinner with me. Several times."

"Yes, but that was before you became the-" The wild gestures indicated very clearly that even House had no clue what to call him.

"You know, maybe before dinner with your mother, you should figure out what exactly this whole ruse is supposed to be." Ah, there was the calm, rational, Wilson, that could always be counted upon to provide logical discourse and discussion on any topic.

"It's just that, a ruse." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"That very well may be, but I doubt your family is going to take kindly to you showing up to say, your grandfather's funeral and introducing me as 'the guy who gives you twice as much out of the will'." He knew that look on House's face, and he knew that it was the look of deep contemplation.

"Partner?" House suggested. "In crime?" Wilson thought about that. Although there was the implication of what _partner_ meant. And it meant a whole lot more than what they currently had. "The endless nag?"

"If that's the case then you're going to be paraded around as 'the eventual cause of my heart attack.'" There was a small pause before both of them laughed. And Wilson knew right then that his mind had been made up-he'd go along with this whole charade, if only because it was House. "You know, we really are an old married couple. We fight, there's no sex, we don't really _do_ that much together, but yet we always wind up here talking about stupid things. How the hell did my life end up like this?"

"Good question."

"Did I really do that much damage to my karma that it was decided that I'd wind up married to my best friend?" Wilson saw the wall flicker, but he wrote it off as just seeing things. The stoic facade of his best friend never faded. It hadn't even when House had given up and given in, and dealing with his addiction. And House had erased the small pang of whatever it was he had felt as soon as he had felt it. Why would he be hurt, or dissapointed-the feeling hadn't quite lasted long enough for him to accurately decipher what it was-that his friend considered that this was a punishment? It was. And Wilson was a masochist.

"You're going along with it." House paused, and looked across the couch to Wilson. "Why?"

"For the same reason you do everything, curiosity."

"What are you curious about?"

"How different it is. To be married to someone based not entirely on my 'saviour complex' as you call it, based not on their ability in bed, but simply because you asked." House thought about that as he sipped his beer. "Besides, it lets me know what it feels like to be an old married couple without actually having to grow old with someone."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, as they sat, channel surfing, working their way through the case of beer. By the time they finished they were comfortably tipsy, and finding that late-night television was far more interesting than it should have been. "House?"

"Hmm?"

"What will your mother think when she sees me?"

"That you are a fine, upstanding, clean cut young gentleman, the same thing she always thinks when she sees you."

"I mean when she finds out that I'm your partner-in-crime." He was liking that term. He watched the gears turn in House's head, and wondered, briefly if this would be the end of their very short engagement. What he wasn't wondering was if House was purposely trying to shield information. Because that wasn't a House thing to do. But House didn't want him to get the wrong idea about things.

"I-don't think she'd mind, actually." It was a convincing enough answer to anyone else, but this was Wilson, Wilson who'd known him for a good two decades, and most of his adult life. Wilson who knew him better than anyone. He knew there was something not being said.

"Really? Your mother's not going to mind having it sprung on her that her only son, who's only other serious, long term relationship was with Stacy, is going to be marrying a man?"

"It's not really springing it on her. Well, the marriage is, but-" This was what he _hadn't_ wanted to admit, because it was a nonfactor in his motivation for this whole thing. Sure, he'd looked, but that had quickly gotten shoved aside. He couldn't say, without lying, that Wilson _wasn't _attractive, but everybody lied, and he had long since learned to ignore the actual features of his friend's face. He could recognize him on sight, but he never really bothered to notice when little things changed.

"You-you're-you" He saw the wheels spinning in his friend's head, and he could hear them squealing as they spun full-tilt. He knew that sound, and often when he heard it it was followed by the thump of Steve being displaced, unable to keep up. He decided to save the rest of Wilson's brain from being thrown off as well.

"Don't find you attractive." He saw the look of hurt that crossed Wilson's face, but he fought the urge to go into damage-control mode. He was House, he didn't _have_ a damage control mode.

"You don't?"

"No. That would just be _weird_. Being attracted to your best friend." Another silence descended upon them, this one much more awkward than the first.

"If I wasn't your friend-" House sighed. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. This was a conversation that could lead nowhere good.

"What does it matter?" He snapped. "It has nothing to do with this whole charade." Wilson watched as House refocused his attention on the television. Well, _that_ was something that he hadn't known about his friend. In all the years he'd known House, he'd heard rumors, but he had always discarded them, figuring that it was just idle gossip.

It was something that he'd just never considered. Something that simply had never crossed his mind. He could tell from House's reaction that he'd struck a nerve, and not a good one. Did that meant that House did find him attractive? Or would, if things hadn't worked out the way they had? He'd never even considered the occasional pang of attraction he'd feel when a good-looking man would walk by, writing them off as simply noticing that yes, someone was better looking than he was.

But this, this was a completely new revelation, and this was something that he had never expected to happen. And it slightly scared him, and slightly piqued his curiosity. But he settled on simply sitting on the couch, drinking beers, and watching TV, pushing all other thoughts of what had just come out from his mind, focusing instead on badly commentated Japanese game shows.


	6. Nessie

A/N: Another day, another chapter, enjoy it.  


* * *

He didn't even remember passing out, only waking up on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table in between beer bottles, head tossed back over the arm of the couch. House was there too, still snoring softly. He checked the clock to find it was still early. He sighed when he looked at the remnants of the night before, and the revelations that it had brought.

He didn't particularly want to move, but figured it was wise to do so. Fifteen minutes, and a much cleaner coffee table later, Wilson allowed himself to sit back down. He didn't _have_ to clean House's place, but he felt better knowing that garbage that he had a part in putting there was gone. He reached for the remote, before opting against it, not wanting to wake his sleeping friend. Then again, he rationed, if House hadn't woken up from the sounds of beer cans clattering against one another, he doubted the TV would wake him.

Still, the remote was placed once again on the table. Wilson sighed, looking across the couch, not knowing what to do with a morning off, and a hangover to nurse. He hadn't even realized he'd been staring until a good five minutes had past. But he had been, eyes tracing the sinewy lines of a taught body, tense even in sleep.

And if nothing else, House was every bit as ungraceful asleep as he was awake. Mouth hanging open, slightly sneering, faintly snoring. And with every noisy breath, Wilson was torn between smiling and feeling bad-after all, he had been the one to accidentally catch his friend square in the nose in a game of basketball. And he had known it was his fault, because the morning after the incident, Stacy had complained that House had started snoring. He always felt as though that was just one more thing that proved that House and Stacy simply weren't to be.

He pushed the thoughts of Stacy out of his head and went back to staring-or rather, observing. House's head was tilted to one side, in a way that looked rather painful. The bad leg was propped up on the coffee table, the good one tucked underneath him. All in all, House looked like a strong breeze would send him toppling over, if it wasn't for the way his arm gripped the back of the couch.

Which was a good thing, he supposed, as the only place to topple was into Wilson's lap. And after the things that had come out last night, he supposed that was for the better. It wasn't as though he was suddenly insecure-he figured that in two decades of friendship if there had never been a pass made on him that there wasn't like to be one, but rather doubt. Doubting what he would do if there had been a pass made on him. Wondering if he'd ignored any of the signs simply because they weren't coming from a typical source. The typical source being something about 5'4", with mousey colored hair, a cute smile, and a perfect rack. Not very large, he'd never been one for Pamela Anderson wanna-bes, but something that he could enjoy.

And House was not at all like any of the typical types. All three wives had been similar. Amber had been a titch different, but not much. Slightly homely, and definitely someone that he knew he could "do better" than. He never really wondered _why_ but if he was forced to go back to his days of psych, he'd put it down to the fact that women who were constantly afraid of losing their man tried harder in a relationship. They knew that the second something better came along that he was gone-he never had to say it, but he knew they all knew it. And that the tears and the sobbing weren't over the fact that he cheated, but rather because they knew it would happen, and they kept telling themselves that no, he wouldn't cheat on _them._

House was tall, lanky, and while grey was still technically a common color for a mouse, it didn't match the others. Piercing blue eyes, rather than soft dark ones. And certainly nothing up top for him to ogle. Although there was Cuddy if a man ever realized he was lacking something to ogle over. Not that he'd ever admit it or do it nearly as brazenly as House did, but there were times he found himself talking to the chest of his boss rather than her face.

He had never once dated someone taller than him-not that he was uncomfortable with his height, even though he knew he clocked in at the shorter end of the spectrum, but he had never liked the idea of having to crane his neck for a kiss. And then he realized where the train of thought was heading, and promptly attempted to derail it. Dating. He had used the word _date_ in vague relation to the word _House._ And he had contemplated what it would be like to kiss someone who had a good few inches on him.

Right now, he needed a drink. And a very stiff one. Even if it was only ten in the morning. There was a slight sound as he leaned his head back against the couch, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. No, not a drink, a drink at ten in the morning was something that could only be summed up as Not a Good Sign. After all, he, unlike other people on the couch with him at the moment, actually cared about his liver.

But then again, he had just used the word _date _in relation to a man he'd never thought would ever enter into thoughts like that. Largely because of the fact that the man in question was, well, a man. It was as though the Loch Ness monster had reared up in a forgotten part of his brain. It was very big, very different, and very scary. And something no one would believe him saying.

Yes, that's what this was. This was the Loch Ness monster of a relationship. No one quite knew what it was, and while he wanted to study it more in depth, he was also very afraid of what studying it would prove. He was afraid to look deeper into the relationship, because somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that the results wouldn't be what logical thought would have hoped they would be. But logical thought isn't always logical.

House awoke to this conundrum, mostly because of the incessant rapping of fingertips against leather. "Would you stop that?" He groaned, attempting to roll back over and fall asleep before realizing there was nowhere to roll to, as he was sitting upright. He had also _almost_ stayed unconscious enough that his leg didn't bother him. Of course, now that he had been awakened, he was sure his leg was going to continue to hurt until he did something about it.

And that something was two Vicodin, without the need to wash them down with anything. He ignored the mumbled apology, and set about figuring out where he was. In his house, on his couch, that much was obvious. Now, as to _why_ he was there. It was something of a morning routine whenever his morning was anything but ordinary. He looked around, and found no evidence of drinking, he still had most of a bottle of pills, so what had led him to sleep on the couch that night? And then the sound of nervous drumming picked up again.

He sighed, almost inaudibly, and put his head back, in the crook of where couch met arm. He had admitted the one thing that no one beyond his mother, and the various and sundry people who's beds he had wound up in knew. And his mother only knew because she happened to stumble in on a morning after one of those nights. Otherwise she'd be another one kept in the dark about the secret, sordid life of doctors behind closed doors.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, simply that he found it an inconvenience. Unless a man was incredibly blatant about their sexuality, in a pink tube top and overly-large rainbow accessories sort of way, other men assumed they were straight. When it was found out that their common assumptions had changed, every other man in the vicinity started to wonder if there had, in fact, been flirting going on. And judging from the look on Wilson's face at the moment, that was the very thought process that was going on. "Stop that." He repeated, the repetitive drumming starting to get on his nerves.

"House-" The tone of voice told him everything he didn't want to hear. He tilted his head, opening his eyes, and found them meeting brown ones.

"We need to talk." They didn't know what was scarier, that they knew that the talk was coming, or that they had both said it in the same few seconds.


	7. Fate of Lost Dogs

A/N - Right, so on we go, with just the beginnings of UST that, since I'm breaking free of my usual plans and writing without an outline, will hopefully become resolved within the next three or so chapters. I'm hoping to wrap this up in less than twenty.  


* * *

House fought the urge to sigh at the words he hated. 'We need to talk' was always a portent of something horrible about to happen, and he knew that this would be no different. But he felt it was a good idea to point out to Wilson that this was entirely because he was a selfish, greedy bastard and not at all because he happened to enjoy something behind closed doors.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Is the first question asked before he can gather himself together.

"Didn't think it was important." It was true, after all. It wasn't important.

"You didn't think that my knowing my friend slept with men was important?"

"Would it have mattered?" Wilson sighed, because he knew it was a good point.

"No." He admitted, as he tried to think up another avenue of questions. "It wouldn't have. But it's a part of your identity, you didn't think to share with anyone?"

"It's not any part of my identity any more than any of your affairs are a part of yours." House knew he'd hit a sore spot, but he didn't care. "I didn't tell you exactly because of this. Because you'd make a big deal over something that doesn't even matter, and it'd make things all _weird._"

Wilson stared at the ground dejectedly. "It's just-" He paused, realizing that there was no point in talking about it anymore.

"What?"

"Nothing." House looked at him, and he felt like he was six years old being chewed out by the principal again. If anything, Wilson had to admit, the vicodin made House look all that more intimidating. There was something about the wide expanse of cold, icy blue with just the smallest pinprick of pupil in the middle that gave him perhaps the most terrifying gaze Wilson had ever seen.

"You brought it up, it's not nothing."

"It's just-it makes me wonder what else I don't know after knowing you for twenty years, spending months of my life on this couch, and just being your friend." House rolled his eyes, Wilson was starting to get maudlin.

"Alright, you want to know what else you don't know about me? I had a dog when I was little, my dad shot it in front of me when it kept digging up the yard. Never had a pet again until Steve" That was something he'd never told anyone else. He saw the small look of horror cross Wilson's face. "My first crush was my German teacher when we were living at Ramstein. I didn't see my first movie until I was fifteen, and it was Goldfinger. I wasn't even supposed to go, but had nothing else to do. Happy?"

Wilson merely sat there, stunned. He was used to the outbursts, they weren't much different from anything else House did on a regular basis, but always when someone pressed him for personal information it was usually the same few facts over and over again. Occasionally with some variation with what was told, but it was never something really personal-it was always something that never went deep. Then again, first crushes and first movies weren't exactly deep either.

"It's-" He paused, searching for something, anything to say in response. "Why?"

"That's a very broad question there."

"Why did you decide to do this? Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? Why me?"

"I decided to do this because it's A) extremely amusing, b) because it pads the coffers just that much more, and c) because I knew you wouldn't say no." It had been something that he knew would happen. It was Wilson, Wilson never turned him down, no matter what the scheme was. No matter what happened, Wilson was always there. Even when Wilson had betrayed him, even when Wilson had walked out of his life, he'd always come back. He always was there.

"What if I had said no?"

"You wouldn't. You'd say no, I'd let it drop, and a few days later you'd come around, and decide that yes, you did want to partake in my little scheme. Because that's what you do." Wilson attempted to glare, but found himself unable. "You are simply unable to not join in on anything I suggest."

"I am too."

"Fine, what's one thing you would never, ever do?"

"Not call my mother on her birthday." House pondered that for a second, before realizing that that was not something he could connive his friend into _not_ doing.

"Fine. Name something else."

"I'm not going to let you trick me into doing something I don't want to do."

"That's the thing. You always decide you _want_ to do whatever I tell you. Why, I don't know. Like a little abused dog that keeps coming back, knowing they'll be mistreated but still so desperately hoping for a little bit of love and attention from their master." House had left a rather large amount out about the dog. It was intended as a hunting dog, but was pitifully afraid of loud noises, and took refuge in his closet whenever there was the faintest boom of thunder, much less a gunshot. And his father had tried everything to get the damn dog to hunt. Digging up the yard had just been the final straw.

He always wondered why it was that not only Wilson had stuck by him-he knew why his friend was always there, but why he stuck by Wilson. The same way he had stuck by that damn dog up until the end. Defending it, hiding it, giving it the attention that it craved but couldn't find elsewhere in the house. But he didn't want to analyze his motives. He was no Frasier Crane, he hated foppish pretenses and acting as though he was living well. And most of all, he hated the idea of psychoanalysis.

"I do not desperately hope for love and attention from you. Or any of my ex wives before you get into that." Wilson knew where this conversation took the abrupt left into his own life, they'd had it before. And it always ended with House telling him what he already knew-he went for those who would give him the attention and the want he craved. Who'd always make time for him, because he was the one thing they had. It was why he picked the needy girls, because they'd be there to shower him in affection.

"Why did you agree to this?"

"I told you, I was curious."

"Bullshit. We've acted like an old married couple since we've met, you don't need to sign your name to a damn sheet of paper to figure out what it'd be like to be in a-how did you put it? Sexless relationship where we only vaguely circle one another, but wind up in the same house having the same boring conversation every night?"

"I didn't put it quite like that, but-" House was right. Then again, House was always right. It was one of the more damnable qualities of his best friend.

"It was exactly what it was when you were sleeping right about there." He pointed to Wilson's spot on the couch. "And if you wanted that, you could have just packed up your hotel room and moved back onto the couch."

"Oh yes, because you so enjoyed my taking over your house, and commandeering your bathroom for an hour every morning."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that the roles in this would be reversed. What straight man spends time to blow-dry his hair and actually moisturize?"

"One who cares about his appearance, unlike you who wouldn't care if he showed up in his pajamas." House found himself considering it. It would be even more comfortable than jeans, he had to admit that. "Don't think about that, Cuddy will kill you."

"You still haven't given a real answer to my question."

"Maybe because I don't know. You think I haven't asked myself the same thing?" House hadn't even thought of that. He was a man who thought things through before doing them. Although he often took the path that contradicted what logic and reason told him he should follow, he at least knew which path _was_ the just and proper course to take.

To know that Wilson had just replied without actually considering things, that had surprised him. He was used to himself being an oddity in his thought patterns, but this was Wilson, he knew how Wilson thought, at least he thought he did. "Well there's obviously a reason why."

"Does there always have to be a reason for everything? Is there always a reason why people do things?"

"Yes."

"Well maybe this time there is no reason. Maybe this just happened because of some cruel twist of fate that decided that two miserable old men should at least have someone to have the same old boring conversation with every night over the same boring dinner." House briefly considered if that could be called a reason, but to call it a reason meant trusting that fate was real. And House believed in free will, and the ability of people to make horribly stupid decisions. So therefore, fate could not be a reason, even though it was the only one presented.


	8. So This is Domesticity? It ain't bad

A/N if there's one thing I've learned from this fic it's that I cannot, for the life of me spell separate. Which is just one more reason why this won't drag out for ever, because it means that so long as they're not together, I have to keep refering to the seperately. Anyway, thanks to those of you who've been following along faithfully, it really does mean a lot to know that people are reading-more actually, to me, than reviews. So thanks, to all of you who've made it this far, and I only hope I don't dissapoint in the rest of this.  


* * *

Though neither of them would admit it, they spent most of the rest of the day thinking about one another in various ways. Wilson, in wondering how it was possible for the man to always be so infuriatingly right. House, in wondering just why it was that Wilson had agreed. There had to be a reason, there always was. Always, and forever, there would be a reason behind man's actions.

Any man's. Wilson was not immune from the curse that had plagued human kind since their inception upon the earth. The curse of free will, and the ability to make decisions based upon higher reasoning. The one thing that separated man from animal was not clothing, or the ability to make a shelter, or the use of tools. It was free will, and taken away from a man, that was what reverted humankind back to the apes that they had come from. It was the only concession that he gave to organized religion, they had at least gotten that choice was what separated man from beast.

The rest of the day had been spent with them doing different things in different rooms-Wilson had made to leave more than once, but never had. Instead House strummed incessantly on one of the many guitars that laid strewn about in various corners of the apartment, while the captions on the television ran, black bars with unread text. Wilson worked on paperwork that had been sitting in his car for god knows how long, waiting for a moment to do it properly, and occasionally the sound of the guitar would cease for an hour at a time.

Lunch was simply sandwiches made with lunchmeat that Wilson didn't want to know the age of. One turkey, and one ham, and he briefly wondered if the turkey was kept in there simply because of how often he wound up in this apartment. And if that was one of the few concessions House made in the name of being nice to other people. Not that he actually made the effort to keep kosher, but when given the option, it was just as easy to follow rules long since drummed into his head than it was to break them.

And they had gone back to their own routines, occasionally interrupted by House popping in to the living room to grab something or another before heading back down the hall, or by Wilson getting up to fulfill basic needs-a shower, something to drink, something to snack on. And the occasional question of if the other man in the small apartment needed anything while the other was up. It was a simple day. Where neither of them went out of the way to talk to the other-not after the conversation that morning, but the other was the only thing on each man's mind.

One might say it was simply...domestic.

Both of them running around in the same few rooms without needing to talk to one another. Both of them simply enjoying a day without needing either's company, but enjoying the presence of another human being. House had to admit, he missed the feeling of knowing that there was something else alive in his house that wasn't a rat. He missed knowing that there was someone there who made him a sandwich not because he asked for one, but because the effort was already being made to grab bread and lunchmeat out of the middle drawer of the fridge. He hadn't even realized he'd bought sliced turkey until he saw Wilson's own sandwich.

Not that he'd admit he'd missed another person's company. But it was nice to have someone else simply _there._ He didn't like people, but even the most crotchey of old hermits needed some social interaction. It was one of the basic human needs. Everyone needed someone, at some point in their lives, and House liked-though he was loathe to admit it-company. Especially when that company kept out of his hair, as little as there was left on his head.

And Wilson wouldn't admit that it felt good to be somewhere that wasn't a hotel. Even when he'd upped and left, he never had the heart to actually actively apartment hunt. He kept telling himself that he'd find someplace to stay "later." He supposed that he knew, deep in his heart, that Jersey would call him back to her clutches. And he had just started to actively look through the Packet and the Trenton Times, and even the Trentonian-the only paper House would read on a daily basis if only for how ludicrous it was-for apartments when House had sprung _this_ on him. And he supposed, if he had to play a part for the next few weeks that he'd put off apartment hunting until this whole mess was over and done with.

It was only when his stomach gave a rumble, and he realized that somewhere along the way the clock had ticked down to six at night that he even began to contemplate dinner. "Hey!" He called towards the bedroom, where he knew House was, doing _something_. There wasn't the infernal racket of a man attempting to figure something out on guitar, nor the steady tap-shuffle that bounced off the wooden flooring that indicated that House was pacing. Which meant that either House was doing something productive, or sleeping.

"What?" Came the response, muffled by the bedroom door.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah. What?"

"Whatever." There was a pause and the steady tap-shuffle of House walking from the bedroom to the living room, clad only in an undershirt and boxers. "Sorry-if you were sleeping-"

"Kinda hard when you're so busy working I'm afraid to snore." Wilson fought the chuckle that came from the sarcastic comment. He knew there were likely other reasons that House was unable to sleep, likely thanks to scar that was just barely poking out from beneath the blue fabric. "So what's Julia Child making today?"

"Nothing, judging from the sorry state of your pantry."

"Well, I don't have you around to go buying my groceries for me."

"You know there's a grocery store about 4 minutes that way-" Wilson gestured down the street. "Really nice one too. I hear there's even a whole shopping center, where they sell these wonderful things called clothes, and they're ones that haven't been in your closet since the last time the Ramones played a live show." House merely rolled his eyes.

"I just bought this one last week."

"Undershirts don't count."

"Yeah, so? It's something in my closet that hasn't been there since before the death of Dee Dee. Which has only been seven years, mind you. I'm sure some of your ties are older than that."

"This is not the time to complain about my ties. Besides, I'm not wearing one now."

"What is it the time for then? And the only reason why you're not is because you're in a set of my sweats because you were too lazy to go back to your hotel and shower." Wilson sighed.

"It's time for you to figure out what the hell you want to eat." He wasn't going to admit that he hadn't wanted to go back to the hotel, that he had actually missed staying on his friend's couch.

"Let's see, if we're vaguely gesturing to where things are, there's Chinese-" House pointed towards his back wall, "Hoagies-" He pointed towards where Wawa lay two blocks to his right, "or pizza." He pointed across the street. "And since we already had sandwiches for lunch, I vote Italian."

"Pizza?"

"No, Italian, like real food. Spaghetti and meatballs and all that."

"Where the nearest place is Theresa's, and that requires you actually dressing up. Sorta. And that requires me going back to the hotel and changing."

"So why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Go back and change?"

"Are you really going to dress up just to have Italian?"

"They have the best linguine con vongole on the east coast." While it might have been true, as Theresa's had been part of why his waistline had slowly expanded since he had first moved to Mercer County, he was quite comfortable on the couch, even though he'd curled his legs beneath him to make room for House to sit.

"I won't believe you'd actually dress up for a dinner that wasn't ending in a promise of getting laid at the end of the night. And even then, it's not dressing up for dinner, it's dressing up for sex." House actually restrained himself from the sarcastic reply that automatically rose to the tip of his tongue, unsure of how it would be received.

It was only when Wilson was met with silence that he turned his face from where it was casually perusing the newest JAMA, which House had carelessly discarded on the corner of the coffee table. He never expected to see House look repressed. "You _can_ crack a joke you know. Now I know how Laurel must have felt once Hardy died, setting himself up for a punchline and never getting it."

House merely put on the biggest pout he possibly could. "But now the joke is ruined. It's like someone explaining 'Who's on First' the second the joke starts. Where's the fun in that?" Although he'd never show it, he couldn't describe how _pleased_ he'd been that Wilson set himself up for the endless quips at his own expense.

"So find jokes with a shorter punchline."

"You know I already have a cane, grab one for yourself and some bad hats, and we could start our own vaudeville troupe, the Miserable, Sarcastic, Bastards." Wilson merely grinned his thoughts on the idea. It was starting to feel as though the entire past few years, and everything that had threatened to sink the tiny ship that was their bond to one another had passed. The Titanic had been rebuilt, and this time it'd hit the iceberg and stayed afloat. Tritter, Amber, all of it seemed to fade into the background, and the friendship that they'd had when they first met was once again brought to light. This was HouseandWilson again, the inseparable duo, the good cop/bad cop routine that had been so busy bailing out the flooding that threatened to sink it finally righted and put back on course.

And Wilson suddenly felt as though _this_ was what contended bliss was like. And he was determined not let how scared he felt by that thought ruin his newfound good mood. "So, are you actually going to get dressed up for dinner?"

And House, who was feeling good, but only because he felt as though the world had been put back into it's proper order, actually smiled instead of smirked as he considered it. "Why the hell not?"


	9. A Date

A/N And there's finally more. This was the most difficult chapter to write by far, but I think this was the hump, where things get easier and easier to write from here on out. It would help if I stopped distracting myself with Huddy fics and my Taub fixation, but meh. Enjoy it anyway.  


* * *

"Dressing up" for House meant pulling a shirt that had been ironed sometime in the last decade out of his closet, and actually buttoning it up all the way. Khakis instead of jeans, and a pair of real shoes instead of sneakers. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it was a noticeable one.

Dressing up for Wilson was him dressing as he always did. Shirt, tie, sport coat and slacks. All in all, they looked like any two professionals going out for a meal. He was however, surprised to come back from his hotel to see House looking decent. "You actually dressed up." Wilson commented on the outfit, noticing that House did look better with a pressed shirt and and buttoned shirt.

"So I did." House looked down at his sport coat-something that he wore every day-as though amazed that he was wearing it. "Ready to eat?"

"Yeah." There was a moment of near-awkwardness between them as the idea that House had actually dressed up for dinner might _mean_ something, but it was quickly dispelled as House limped towards his bike and Wilson shook his head. "We're not taking that." House pretended to pout, but headed towards Wilson's car instead.

Parking in downtown Princeton was always something that was a bit of a bitch on slow days, and at nights tended to be downright awful. Even with most of the shops closed, the close proximity of most of the restaurants to one another made parking at night difficult. Winberries and Mediterra and the Tap Room were all within two blocks of Theresa's, but House's production of a handicap permit from his pocket managed to snag them a half-decent spot within half a block of the restaurant. "A benefit of being a gimp." House commented, as they walked inside.

It was a short wait before they were seated, and the first glass of wine was poured. Wilson couldn't help but feel nervous-this was their first dinner as an engaged couple, even if it was all just for a farce. "So-" Wilson began, trying to find some sort of avenue for conversation as he munched idly on the bruschetta on the table.

"You look like you're waiting for someone to come arrest you."

"Yes, well, this is something that's entirely new to me. Forgive me for it being awkward."

"What's so damn different about going out to dinner with your friends. I'm willing to bet Antonio over there has already plugged our orders in, considering how often we've been here."

"Yes, but we've never actually been here together. You've been here with dates, I've been here with my wives, we've been here for hospital functions, but this is-"

"Quit acting like it's a goddamn date, it's dinner."

"Well I'm sorry that I've never seen you actually dress up for something without someone shoving a cattle prod up your ass." House mulled over the comment, Wilson did have a point. And he hadn't known why he agreed to dress up for dinner-it _wasn't_ a date. It was just dinner with Wilson, it was nothing he hadn't done plenty of times before. But Wilson was right, their dynamic had changed, and change was different. Change was awkward.

"Their clam sauce is worth dressing up for." House commented, gulping down the rest of his wine, and pouring another glass out of the bottle.

"You always drink like this on dates?" Wilson asked as House set the glass down, already half empty before they had even ordered.

"Oh, so now it's a date?" They were starting to get argumentative, after a day spent just enjoying the other's company. "Funny, I thought you didn't want that. Or are you already assuming the role of doting Jewish bride, able to nag everyone within earshot to death?" The anger was momentarily diffused by the waiter taking their orders, and House was right-it was merely confirming what they always got. No comment was made that they'd never been seen in there together before.

"I don't nag."

"If I recall correctly, you nagged me into quitting smoking, you nagged me into going to rehab, you nagged me into actually not getting fired, you nag me about my drinking-in fact, all you ever do is nag." Wilson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as to not cause a scene in the middle of one of Princeton's nicer restaurants.

"Can we continue this conversation after dinner? Preferably when we're not in public?" Dealing with House was like dealing with an unruly five year old. Not only was he about to enter into a marriage, he was also gaining a child in the process. It was, however, slightly pathetic that the bridegroom and the child were the same person. A five year old in a fifty year old's body.

"You started it. After all, you're the one that called this a date."

"It's not wings and beer."

"Do you _want_ it to be a date?" House asked, and Wilson shifted in his seat.

"Generally, that's what people do before they get married."

"And this is far from a conventional marriage. Should I have bought a corsage and compliment your choice in ties?"

"If you actually complimented my tie, I'd be very afraid."

"You're right, it looks horrible on you. You have horrible taste in ties."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." House merely smirked as the food made its way out, and House shoved a fork roughly into one of the clams, pulling out the long-dead and steamed sea creature and relishing the taste.

"You're right, this isn't the date, you'd at least attempt table manners if it was."

"You obviously didn't send a spy for my date with Cameron." Wilson merely quirked an eyebrow, knowing that House could be very charming if he wanted to be. And that House actually had decent table manners, again when he wanted to display them.

"So what are we going to say tomorrow?" Wilson asked, half-dreading the idea of going to work.

"Do we have to say anything?"

"Cuddy already has the gist of it, I'm sure the rest of the hospital will find out soon enough."

"Want to put on a show?" House asked, slurping up a long trail of linguine, leaving Wilson to roll his eyes as he carefully chewed his veal parm.

"Of course you'd want to embarrass me in front of everyone."

"Just an hour ago you were saying you enjoy being the punchlines of my jokes."

"I never said I enjoyed it, just that I expect it." House rolled his eyes, and signaled for the check as they both finished off their meals.

"So no grand announcement in the middle of reception tomorrow?" Wilson visibly paled at the idea, and House merely smirked. "Take that as a no. But you know they will find out."

"Yes, but at that point we'll already be heading for the divorce proceedings and they'll all know it's just a farce." House was too busy fishing through his wallet for Wilson to notice the faint pained expression that crossed his friend's face at the mention that this was going to be just another divorce.


	10. The Poster Boy for Middle Child Syndrome

A/N-this chapter feels a bit scattered and all over, but meh. I expect that six months from now it's going to get looked at again and a rewrite will be started and promptly dropped for something better, unless there's something glaringly obvious that's easy to fix because my brain has frozen from the cold.

* * *

"Are you going back?" House asked as he walked up the step to his apartment.

"To the hotel?" Wilson asked, and House merely nodded. Wilson didn't answer, and House held the door open for him to follow.

"Well?"

"Later." House quirked an eyebrow, but collapsed on the couch anyway, with Wilson taking the other far cushion, both of them sprawled out towards the middle, their feet almost, but not quite, touching on the coffee table in front of them.

"Which means you're sleeping here tonight." Wilson shrugged.

"I was planning on going back-"

"Bullshit, you hate it there and you know it. And I know it. Besides, what's wrong with admitting you're spending the night at your fiancé's place?"

"Because you're not actually my fiancé. That implies a whole range of emotions that I don't think you're actually capable of." House didn't respond, but merely limped in the kitchen and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, setting one in front of Wilson and opening the other.

"Like what?"

"Love, for one."

"How do you know I'm incapable of loving someone?"

"Because I've known you for twenty years, and the closest you've come to unconditional love is for that damned rat of yours." There was a gesture towards Steve's cage, and House pouted.

"What's wrong with loving a pet unconditionally? I feed him, and give him water, and in return, he gives me company."

"It's a rat, not a dog, you can't scritch it behind it's ears, or have it lay it's head in your lap, or anything fun." House rolled his eyes, but relaxed back into the couch.

"You're just getting cold feet, and we haven't even set a date yet. Which we probably should, seeing as gramps ain't going to last more than another month or two, and you need to apply for the license at least seventy two hours in advance."

"I'm not-"

"You're afraid of something. You never complain about something about me, unless it's something you're afraid of. Take, for example, my Vicodin. You complain about it because you're afraid I'm going to crawl into one of these nice orange bottles," He held one up for demonstration, popping two with ease, "And not crawling back out of it."

"That's generally what someone does for a friend. They care enough to make sure that they don't completely petrify their livers."

"So what are you afraid of by marrying me?"

"I'm not afraid of anything." Wilson was a horrible liar, and both of them knew it, no matter how well Wilson tried to hide it. Especially when Wilson was lying to House-he could get away with it to patients who were taught to trust him, but House had learned long ago all of his friend's tells.

"You're afraid of something with this, what?" Wilson paused, wondering what exactly that feeling of impending doom was. He knew it was something, and that as the day had grown on and the idea became firmer and firmer in his mind that he had actually agreed to this and that sometime within the next week he'd be standing in front of a justice of the peace reciting crappily written store-bought vows all because he couldn't say "no", well, the idea was growing scarier and scarier by the second.

"I'm afraid-" He took a deep breath as he tried to rationalize his fears. "I'm afraid of this changing things, and not for the better. Of my coworkers looking at me differently because I crossed another line just cause you asked. Of having less respect because I played into one of your ruses without even thinking of myself. Of _us_ changing just because you had to see where the line in the sand was drawn. This was never about the money, this was all about you seeing where I would finally say no. And realizing that you're free to use me, because I don't say no." He hadn't meant to go on, but he had.

And House sat there, letting it all sink in. There wasn't an angry tone in Wilson's voice, but rather a defeated one. As his friend had pieced together the last bits of the puzzle, and had come to the same conclusion that House had long ago. There _was_ no line in the sand. A few little demarcations of things that Wilson wouldn't do on basis of principals and morals, but even House could twist his principals and morals for him. They both knew that House could kill someone, and Wilson would be along to help hide the body and only say 'don't do that again'

He watched Wilson's shoulders slump as the man realized just how well played he had been, and tried to think up a witty retort, something, anything. It was something that had been understood, but House had never known that Wilson himself hadn't realized it. Instead he sat there, beer stuck somewhere between table and mouth, unsure of what to say. Which in and of itself was a feat. "If you don't want this, just say so." That was all he could come up with. The best he could do.

"I don't know _what_ I want. It's a year's worth of alimony for the first wife if I go through with this, and it's a signature on a piece of paper and nothing more. But that's just it-no one else sees it as that. And everyone else will know, there's absolutely no way to avoid it. It's the hospital, word gets out fast. You can't sneeze without everyone else finding out about it within five minutes."

"You know, there's a reason why there's anti-discrimination laws. You can get people who give you a hard time fired." He saw Wilson's lips start to quirk upwards, but only for a second. "You know what your problem is? You're too damn self-conscious. What the hell does it matter what the hospital gossip line says about you? They've already said worse about me, or about Elswick down in the ER, or Petrillo the rad tech who's slept with every single man in this hospital, yourself and yours truly included." He saw the faint blush at the idea of sleeping with the town bike of the hospital, but it was nearly part of initiation to work at the hospital to have a hurried encounter somewhere with the girl.

"I actually have a good reputation-"

"You planning on changing jobs any time soon?" Wilson shook his head.

"Probably going to be here til I retire."

"So what the hell does the reputation matter? If Cuddy hasn't fired you for following along with one of my ideas yet, she's never going to." Wilson sighed, not realizing that this was just House manipulating him yet again.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Course I'm right, I'm always right." He held up his beer towards Wilson. "Here's to actually having a bit of self-confidence." The clink of beer bottles hitting one another echoed through the apartment.

"You really think I have no self confidence?"

"If you're the poster boy for anything, it's middle child syndrome. Trying to be the best, while doubting yourself all along the way, able to compromise between people, while doubting yourself-" He hadn't expected it to get a laugh, but it had. A not very humorous one, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Yeah. I know this means nothing. You know this means nothing. Who cares what other people will think it means?" House twisted his lips into something resembling a smile, and leaned back as they lapsed into a comfortable silence that was only broken to comment on whatever it was that was playing on TV.


	11. Chuppas and Threats

A/N: Blame boxing day football for why this isn't the best chapter. I keep getting frustrated with the teams I want to win playing like shit. (I'm looking at you Portsmouth, missing that easy-as-sin penalty...)  


* * *

"You actually agreed to this?" Cuddy was busy massaging her temples, staring at the two men in front of her, unsure of what to think. "You actually really agreed to play along with his damn ruse?" Wilson shifted foot to foot uneasily, while House looked perfectly casual.

"Well-" Was the best Wilson could come up with. She turned to look at House, her eyes narrowed.

"This is as far as this ruse goes, correct?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean that you're not going to go around embarrassing Wilson-"

"He can stick up for himself." This was the one thing that House hated most about Cuddy, her urge to mother everyone in the hospital, himself included.

"Knowing you, you'd start necking with him-regardless of whether or not he wants to start necking with you-in the middle of the ER, just to provoke a reaction." He couldn't say that the idea hadn't crossed his mind. "If you do anything, say anything, about this, you will be doing sixty hours in the clinic a week for the rest of your life."

"Yes mommy." House's tone was as mocking as it could get. "Do we at least get honeymoon time?" Cuddy grit her teeth for a moment, and looked between them.

"Do you actually have any plans?"

"Pizza, beer, and lots of bad movies, preferably someplace with less garbage and toxic waste than this state?" Wilson didn't even try to hide his relief at the fact that House hadn't even considered a honeymoon. The second that the word had come up, he'd started to panic at the idea of House already starting to make plans, as it would lead to nothing but embarrassment on his part. He could see it now, being relegated to the couch in a honeymoon suite, enduring the stares of everyone else in the hotel, just for House's perverted pleasure.

Cuddy sighed, and looked between them for a long moment. "Fine, you two have my blessing to go take a week off, hopefully in opposite directions of one another, but House, I'm warning you now, if the rest of the hospital finds out about this stunt because you pull another stunt to announce things, Foreman will be running your department, and you'll be in the clinic for the rest of your life." Wilson gave a small, grateful smile at Cuddy, letting him know that he was quite thankful to her for putting a very real punishment on anything that House would try and pull.

As they retreated out of their boss's office, Wilson looked nervously over at House. "You're not planning on telling anyone, are you?" House quirked an eyebrow.

"What happened to not caring what anyone thought?"

"I said I didn't care if they found out, which they're going to. I _will_ care if the first words out of your mouth when you walk in to the conference room are 'guess what, Wilson and I are getting married.'" He was glad for the privacy of the elevator, it allowed him to talk candidly without fear.

"And what will you do if I were to tell them?"

"It's off. I don't give a damn about the money, it's nice, but I don't need it, if you tell them, then the whole thing's off. You wanted to know where the line in the sand is? It's there, I'm not going to be publicly humilated in front of my coworkers for your twisted pleasure." He didn't like the grin on House's face, it usually foretold something horrible was about to come.

He didn't realize it was because House was actually proud of himself, that obviously something of the conversation they'd had last night had gotten through. It gave him something to gloat about, something to rub in in the middle of an argument. Instead they parted ways on the fourth floor, each of them going to their own offices for the rest of the day.

He was starting to think that House had actually upheld his end of the deal when Taub stopped by. "Yes?" He asked the other man, curious to know why one of House's fellows was standing in front of him.

"I drew the short straw." Taub said, and Wilson quirked an eyebrow. "We wanted to know if you were getting remarried." He was regretting that sip of coffee that was currently stuck in his throat, and not wanting to leave.

"What?" He managed to squawk.

"Well, he was asking about some of the more detailed parts of a Jewish wedding, and since you and Cuddy are the only two Jews who he'd actually care about if they got married, and Cuddy's obviously not getting married, or else we'd all have heard about it, it left you."

"And you care, why?" Wilson asked.

"Because House is unbearable when he's not bothering you?" Taub tried, and Wilson rolled his eyes. "He is, when you were gone, he was downright...miserable. We wanted to know that if you were, how long the honeymoon would be so that we could plan accordingly." Of course, that was the way that the minions thought. Cover their own asses first.

"A week. But we haven't even set a date yet." Taub's eyebrows raised.

"Haven't you two been friends for a long time?"

"Yes, why?"

"You've never had a Jewish wedding?" Wilson shook his head.

"The three ex Mrs. Wilson's all insisted on their churches. Much to my mother's dismay." Taub gave a small smile.

"I know the feeling." There was a small moment of shared comraderie, before Taub spoke again. "Mazel Tov."

"Thanks." was all Wilson managed, before turning back to his charting. So House had avoided telling them directly, and at the moment, the entire team thought that he was getting remarried to some girl. And they had no clue that House was playing the bride. Or groom. Or whatever you called the second person. And he felt a feeling of dread starting to sink in-they weren't going to have to _kiss_ were they? Even in a civil ceremony?

He walked out to the balcony, not actually expecting House to come out there with him. "I thought it was a civil service?" He asked, staring down into the courtyard below.

"I'm allowed to see if there's any glaring differences between the vows, aren't I?" Wilson shrugged. "Although I don't see why you wouldn't want to get married under a Chuppa-they make some very interesting ones."

"Can't be any worse than the burning of Atlanta one my cousin had." House quirked an eyebrow, and Wilson noticed the gesture out of the corner of his eye.

"She had a Gone With the Wind themed wedding, her Chuppa was the burning of Atlanta." He heard the snicker of laughter next to him, and couldn't help but join in. It had easily been the tackiest wedding he had ever attended, but then again, he wasn't fond of admitting he was related to the girl.

"So, since this is your idea, what else needs to be planned?"

"Not much, unless you want a reception?" Wilson shook his head.

"That implies people." House shrugged.

"You know you're awfully defensive about no one finding out. You know there's a betting pool on us, right?" Wilson paled slightly-he'd honestly never heard that. "I'm all for not telling anyone, simply because Jen in Radiology stands to win the most, and I hate her." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"She's a nice girl-" She was always willing to bump Wilson's patients up to the top of the MRI list, at any rate.

"She goes out of her way to make sure I don't get my patient's scans, X-rays, or anything that involves beaming electrons of some kind through their bodies." Wilson rolled his eyes. "So I refuse to let her win fifteen hundred dollars by announcing things."

Wilson's face turned stark white as he heard the amount. "Fifteen hundred? On us?"

"Well, that's on us getting married, there's a lot more who'll be getting a lot less for other things-for example, if I decide to kiss you in the middle of the cafeteria, Ross over in Peds gets a hundred, but if you kiss me, anywhere in this hospital, Regina the lawyer gets three hundred." Wilson's hands gripped the railing tighter.

"This has been going on for how long?"

"At least the past five years?" Wilson banged his head off the railing repeatedly.

"How is it that people were putting bets on me, and I'm completely clueless?"

"If it's any consolation, I stand to win three grand if you bang Cameron."

"No, it's not. You don't have any money riding on this, do you?"

"Of course not, as one of the participants, I'm ineligible to bet. Could you sleep with Cameron though? I could use that money-" Wilson merely shot him a glare, and turned to walk back into his office. "Kidding!" House called to his back, as he stalked back inside, collapsing into his chair. So of course the entire hospital would be betting on them.

After all, they were an old married couple, pretty much. They fought, and bickered, and always made up in the end. Sexless, and nearly loveless, but yet they always seemed to find each other out of a sense of routine-they always seemed to find their way back to one another, no matter how much they didn't want to. He looked up when he heard a knock on his door, followed by Cameron.

"House is up to something." No hello, no greeting, just an observation.

"Of course he is, he's House, he's always up to something."

"I think it involves you." Wilson rolled his eyes. "He's been doing that hinting thing, where he tries really hard to act as though he doesn't want us to figure it out, but he really does. And I think it involves you, so I came to warn you."

"I thank you for your caring, but I can take care of myself, it's House."

"Do you have any idea of what it is?"

"Well considering that he mentioned that he has three grand on _us_ in the hospital betting pool, I'd stay far away from the doors to any closets, lest he shove both of us in one for two hours so he can collect." He took some sort of perverse pleasure in the sickly shade of green she turned at the idea. It was an easy deflection.

"Why?" He cocked his head, trying to figure out what, or whom, the question was directed at. A higher power perhaps, questioning why she hadn't actually gotten out of Princeton when she had the chance? "Why do you keep putting up with his schemes? Every time it always ends with him walking all over you, and yet you keep doing it." Wilson sat there, pondering her question. Truth be told, he didn't have an answer.

"Because-" He paused, trying to think of something good to say. "-He's House." As though that would simply explain everything. Cameron merely threw her hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation, before leaving his office. Although she had a point, why _did_ he keep following along with House's grand ideas that never ended well?


End file.
